The Darkest Hour
by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: The world Peter Parker left behind is a broken one, and it's not one MJ is sure she can survive.


In the darkest hour of Queens, May Parker became the light that MJ clung to like a moth.

Power lines were down, entire streets were demolished. Car alarms screamed in the night for weeks after the first battle, and the air was thick with dust and ash that clawed its way down MJ's throat with every breath. For weeks, there was no voice that the grainy air did not make raspy and hoarse. Any small exertion sent a tightness through MJ's chest that was followed by a hacking cough.

May Parker's apartment was a safe haven now, the only one. Ned was staying there as well, after having lost both of his parents to the same thing that had erased half of the population from earth. MJ spent most of her time with him those first few days, huddled on May's couch with his hand clenched in hers. He stared straight ahead with hollow eyes at the window, and nothing that MJ said seemed to reach him. She wondered if it ever would.

That day on the bus had only been a week or two ago, and somehow it felt like years.

Ned had explained to MJ what had happened, and the chill that cut her to the bone as she looked at the ship was one that the girl never would be able to describe. When the attacks had begun to take place, slipping away from the school group had not been so difficult. The museum they were visiting had not been so far away from Ned's house, so MJ had accompanied him home. Turning down Mr. Leeds's offer of shelter had been a no-brainer, because MJ couldn't leave her mother wondering where she was.

Her own home had been harder to reach than Ned's because it was located on the street where the battle had taken place.

By the time MJ got there, the street was empty of the billionaire in a robot suit, the D&D impersonator with an overanimated cape, and the spiderling that MJ cared for more than she would ever admit. The whole of the street was demolished, with broken windows and screaming car alarms and thick smoke filling the air. By then, the ship had withdrawn, but MJ did not think that the Avengers had won. If they had, Tony Stark would be on every screen trying to calm the public, and there would already be cleanup crews in the streets.

No, the fact that the ship had withdrawn meant that the alien life had gotten whatever it was they had come for.

The power was out, and the streets below were crawling with cleanup crews. It had taken days to organize after the event, the horrific occurrence that many had begun to call "The Disappearing." Those days had been chaos, their own special kind of hell that MJ prayed would never come to her mind again. Sitting there on the couch with Ned, however, it was hard not to think about crawling through debris, sometimes on hand and knees, as glass shards cut her clothing to rags and ash streaked her face. That ash had been someone, once, someone's mother or son or brother or daughter, and now it had been reduced to a few dark particles that made MJ's face as filthy as the rest of her.

When she had arrived at May's house, the woman had opened the door with a hesitant stance as she used it to shield her body. As soon as she saw it was MJ, however, she unbolted the lock and quickly ushered the battered, bleeding girl inside.

"You're here," she had whispered in a voice that was constricted. MJ could not tell if it was the emotion that tightened May's throat, or just the ashes. "You're here." There had been an embrace, one so tight and packed with emotion that it had brought tears to MJ's eyes. This was not an uncommon occurrence; MJ had grown used to the tears. They did not seem to want to leave her alone. Still, these hurt more than most, because the embrace that would have shocked her once had become a common action in these dark days.

As she stepped over the threshold, MJ's one-room studio that she shared with her mother looked just like all of the other damaged buildings. Every window had been broken, and there was even what looked like a shard of alien metal impaled in the wall across from a particularly damaged glass pane. The room was filled with dust and debris, and the floor was covered with shards of shattered glass.

The place that was supposed to MJ's safe haven was damaged, yes. But some small, childish part of her prayed that maybe it would be alright. She and her mother would rebuild, and it would be secure again, the place were MJ could truly find home.

As she entered the room, MJ's eyes locked with her mothers'. Upon seeing her daughter home, Hannah Jones's hazel eyes filled with tears in a way that MJ had never seen before, followed by sobs of relief. As hannam embraced MJ, something strange happened. MJ did not pull away in the manner that she normally would, did not try to rationalize the tears away. Instead, she allowed herself to be held as her mother's tears soaked into her shirt. It took the girl a moment to realize that there were tears in her eyes, too, and that these tears were pouring down her face.

The rioting had stopped, several days later, but only because a new group of people with guns. Law enforcement, or whatever was left, had managed to regroup, as had government officials. There were private lines that they could use to communicate, and the cleanup began slowly and steadily. Civilians were instructed to stay in their homes and sit quiet, and there would be rations distributed until the rubble was cleared away and they could start again.

MJ learned something in those days, the ones spent holed up in a shell of an apartment with Ned and May. She learned that the people who were most useful to the rebuilding after this war were the people who had been alone before it. She had been like that, once… Surviving by herself, without need of anything but that which she could make on her own. And now, she was sitting on the sofa beside a broken boy and a broken woman, and it was their fault that she was broken, too. It was their fault that they had forced their way into her life, their fault that they had given her something to lose .

It was Peter Parker's fault, because his loss had crippled all of them.

Slowly, those who had already stood on their own two feet managed to rebuild. There was a normal, and it was new. This normal was waiting. They were waiting for the power to go up, waiting to see who had survived, waiting to see if maybe there was an ounce of hope to be had in all of this.

They didn't have to wait more than a few weeks.

When the knock came at the door, Ned, May, and MJ hopped into their normal routine of May going to get the door while MJ moved Ned to hide with her in the closet. Almost as soon as MJ managed to get both herself and Ned into the darkened space, there had been a call of, "MJ? Get Ned, it's safe."

She let out a sharp breath, slowly easing open the closet door. If she was being forced to call for them, May would have called MJ Michelle. It was a system they had set up the first night of her arrival, a night when MJ could still taste her mother's ashes on her lips. Ned remained expressionless still as MJ lightly tugged on his arm, pulling him out of the closet with her and into the remains of the living room.

Standing in the doorway beside May was Tony Stark.

He was not wearing a suit or anything of the sort. Instead, he wore a simple pair of pants, leather shoes, and a plain grey shirt. Though the clothing was clean, MJ could tell by the grime on his face that Stark had not bathed for days at least. His eyes were sunken and his frame was gaunt. MJ could see a place where his shirt puckered up, and through the thin cloth she could have sworn she saw bandaging.

MJ drew in a sharp breath, and her grip around Ned's arm tightened. Even in his dazed state, Ned stepped closer to MJ, and May wet her lips. MJ could tell that she was struggling to hold back tears. "Please, sit," the wavering, raspy voice of May Parker finally managed to force out.

Stark winced, and that was when MJ's heart sank. Her hand fell from Ned's arm, and her friend willingly moved, for the first time in weeks, to stumble to a chair. The boy's dark, hopeless eyes were locked on Stark. "May," Tony began in a voice that was so gentle it made MJ sick, "I am so-"

"Sit, please," May repeated, and this time her voice was a little stronger.

"May-"

"Don't call me that."

MJ visibly recoiled at May's outburst, stumbling into the wall behind her. A picture frame that had already been hanging precariously was misplaced by her shoulder, and it crashed to the floor with a shattering sound. Neither adult looked her way.

Stark looked pained, and MJ thought he might vomit. Before he could say anything else, May was continuing. "You don't know me, Stark, and you don't know these kids. These kids have been through hell. We all have. You don't know me, you don't know them, and you don't know my Peter-"

Her voice cracked off, and MJ felt herself holding her breath.

"So don't call me May, and please sit." As she finished, May's voice was quiet and hollow. Stark obeyed immediately, taking a seat on the sofa that was spilling out stuffing from four different places.

"Mrs. Parker," Tony murmured, and his voice was hoarse as any of theirs was. MJ had not considered the fact that The Disappearing might have been an event not native to Earth, but now she wondered. "I'm here to talk to you about Peter."

May pursed her lips, and for a moment, all MJ could see in her eyes was agony.

"No," she whispered. "No, you're not."

"May-"

"I know how this goes." Her eyes were empty, and MJ couldn't bear to look at them. "I know what you're going to say. Whatever you've got to tell me, I've heard it a million times before. I heard it when I lost my brother-in-law and my best friend in the same day, I heard it when they told me my Ben was… Was gone. I don't want to hear it."

Tony Stark's face contained more grief than MJ had ever seen before, rivalled only by the hollow pits of May Parker's eyes. "I know," he murmured quietly. "I know, Ma- Mrs. Parker. That's why I'm not going to tell you how sorry I am, because I think you know that."

There was a moment of silence as Stark beheld May, and MJ could see in his eyes that he was unsure whether or not she would let him continue or just strike him. After a moment, she nodded.

"I'm not going to tell you that he was a hero, because you already know. No one knows better than the people in this room what that kid does- what Peter did every day for people who he never got to hear thank him."

A sob escaped May Parker's lips, and MJ found herself crossing the room to the reedy woman. MJ gripped the woman's calloused hand in her own, and May clung to it like it was a lifeline. She looked down at MJ through cracked spectacles and attempted a smile, one that was lopsided and trembling and so terribly, horribly Peter Parker. A tear fell from May's cheek and landed on MJ's neck, but she did not brush it away.

"I am going to tell you that he was-" Tony Stark's voice cracked, and MJ drew in a slow breath. "He was smart, the same way he always has been. He adapted to things that even I've never seen before, fought with allies we only met the day before. He looked Thanos- the one who did this- straight in the eye and used those same stupid comebacks the kid always... "

Tony Stark's eyes squeezed shut, and he did not continue. For a moment, he just sat there, breathing deeply. Finally, he managed to whisper, "He was scared. He was a kid, and he was scared, and I'm not gonna tell you he faced death bravely because he didn't. He wanted to keep living, the same way we all do, because that's human.

"Until the moment Peter Parker died, he was human. And when you're fighting someone like Thanos, being able to keep your humanity is something that no ordinary boy can do. When he died, Peter Parker was a man."

Another sob escaped May's lips, and suddenly MJ was supporting most of the woman's weight. Her own heart was not beating, or at least not that MJ could feel. There was an emptiness in her chest that she could not hope to ever fill, something that was so dark and consuming that all she could do to beat it back was think about May. MJ's hand gripped May's as she gently lowered her into Ben's old chair, still gripping her hand.

When Ned spoke, she nearly dropped the woman's hand in shock.

"And he's gone? You lost against… Against, Thanos? It's game over?"

Stark's eyes snapped to Ned, as did MJ's. Her friend still looked broken, still looked battered. But Ned Leeds no longer looked empty.

Tony Stark gritted his teeth as he looked up at Ned. "No," he spat, shaking his head. "No. No, it's not, because if there's anything I've learned in these past few days it's that time isn't as permanent as it used to be, and it can change sides. And that's what it's gonna do."

Tony turned to face May, and his eyes softened slightly. "We're going to fix this, May, or die trying. The original Avengers team is still here, and we made some new friends that have just as much to lose as we do. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but the universe is an awful lot of territory to micromanage, and we're going to use that to our advantage. And I swear to you that I am going to spend every moment-" For a moment, Stark could not continue, and he looked away. "Every moment fighting to get your boy back."

"Our boy," MJ corrected. Her voice was hoarse and scraped against her throat from lack of use, but it was loud enough for them all to hear it. "He's our boy." May squeezed MJ's hand as the dark-haired girl swallowed a lump in her throat. "What do we do to help, until then?"

"I can program," Ned interjected with a grim sort of determination, "and MJ can hack. We go to Midtown, we're both good with tech. We can- we can go through data, we can gather information, whatever."

Stark took a deep breath, composing himself as he looked up at them. "I came here to tell you about what happened, but I also came to ask you if you would consider moving to the Upstate facility with me, just temporarily. It isn't safe for you here, and there, you could monitor situations on the ground."

"It isn't safe for anybody here," May corrected, and her voice was that of a woman struggling to keep from falling apart. "Why should we move upstate with you when all of these people are stuck here, under what's basically martial law? Can't you help them, too?"

The accusing bite in May's voice did not seem to surprise Stark. He looked up at her with eyes that were filled with so much agony that MJ could not breathe. "I can't," he murmured. "In times like these, money doesn't… Money isn't a bargaining chip that is as useful as it once was. Procedure and paperwork aren't options for us on the level they once were. I can only help on a much smaller scale. But I can help you."

May appeared to be contemplating as she drew in a long breath.

"Please," Stark murmured. "The kid won't forgive me if he finds out I left you all out here in the middle of this."

That was enough. It was as if all of the energy in May left her in one gasp, and she slowly nodded. "Alright, "she murmured. "Ned, MJ… Let's go."

There was nothing for them to take. Any food that had been in the apartment had either spoiled when the power went out or been stored in hiding places, just in case their home was broken into. MJ had watched out the window as groups of police, people who were supposed to be helping the victims, burst their way into apartments instead to take food with their guns blazing. The government was doing what it could, but there was little it could do to prevent law enforcement from going rogue to steal what they needed for their families. There was no clothing that they could get, other than May. She had kept a packed bag of clothing and necessities that contained almost everything valuable in the apartment. Ned was wearing a too-small hoodie and pair of pajama pants belonging to Peter, and MJ was wearing May's jeans and one of her blouses paired with her torn jacket and combat boots. That was all that they had, and it was all they would bring with them. The ride to Stark's facility was silent, except for the sounds of May's muffled sobs from the passenger seat.

The arrival at Stark's headquarters marked a new normal, and this one was a little more empty and a little more bearable all at the same time.

May had her own room at the headquarters, but Ned and MJ shared a large one. The suite had two beds and a massive bathroom and everything from a flatscreen to a minifridge. On the TV, there were news channels that were broadcasting in spite of all of the destruction, most of which came from other parts of the country that had not been hit the way New York had. The government was in shambles, trying to figure out exactly how to handle what had happened.

Ned and MJ could only watch the TV for a few minutes at a time before MJ had to shut it off. Most of the time, it was either because they were rattling off a list of the celebrities, politicians, and public figures who had died, as if they were somehow more important than all of the countless others who had faced the same fate.

Another time, MJ had needed to switch it off because the news was covering the chaos in Queens, speculating where the local hero was amidst the chaos. After switching it off, she had gone to the bathroom to vomit into the toilet while Ned held her hair.

The A.I., F.R.I.D.A.Y., told MJ and Ned how to get to the labs at their request. There, the two students found themselves surrounded by the most advanced computers that either of them had ever seen, all powered by their own generators. These, F.R.I.D.A.Y. had informed them, were theirs to use for monitoring of any alien activity on earth. They were also MJ's only relief from being forced to think about him, about Peter Parker dying light years away from the people who loved him.

The work was therapy. It pushed away all thoughts of that miserable day from her mind, gave her something to work towards with Ned. It was a way for them to find a new normal. Slowly, surely, the days began to blur into one another. The world outside was rebuilding, no matter the fact that MJ's heart remained in shreds. She still worked, still monitored, still poured herself into the task. But she did not remain in the headquarters at all times, the way that Ned did. Stark had insisted on compensating them a little bit for their work, and as the economy licked its wounds, the currency regained some of its normal value.

MJ went out at night. She drowned in whatever she could find- dance music, crowded city squares, house parties- just for a moment, just so she could breathe.

Because whenever she returned at night and collapsed in the bed she and Ned had taken to sharing, she was back in the one-room studio she shared with her mother.

They were huddled in the bathroom, with an emergency radio and blankets, as well as with the lockbox that contained their money and food. The radio whined announcements that were clearly struggling to maintain order, but from the reports of riots and the sounds of gunshots that MJ and her mother could hear from the streets, the attempt to maintain control was failing. Multiple times, MJ and her mother were forced to shut off the radio and shut up when they heard people trying to break down the door. Every second felt like another hour of hell.

The floor was cold and painful beneath MJ, and she could hear the dripping of the faucet, but after a while even that stopped. The pipe connected to it had undoubtedly been damaged, and MJ was left in the dark with only the sound of her mother's breathing.

All MJ could think about was what was happening beyond these walls. Ned, alone with his family, Peter out in the far reaches of the earth or even somewhere in space- they were so far away from one another, these three who had taken each others' companionship for granted so many times. There was a large chance she would never see either of them again, never be able to make them feel any less alone. There were so many things that had gone unsaid, so many choices they hadn't made yet.

What if Peter didn't come back, and she never got to tell him that she loved him?

Every hour dragged, and MJ felt herself become more exhausted with each one. They faded into a haze of drooping eyelids and droning radio static and clapping a hand over her mother's mouth when she heard footsteps outside of the door. Their front door had long since been kicked down, and MJ did not know what would greet them when it was finally safe to exit the bathroom. This was anarchy, and there were no rules now.

Just when MJ was wondering if she would be able to keep going anymore, her mother started to scream.

MJ was roused from a partial sleep by hysterical cries, and she turned to face Hannah Jones as she flicked on a flashlight beside her hands. "Mom? Mom!" she cried out in a voice that was hoarse from thirst. She reached to grab her mother by the shoulder and watched as, beneath her fingers, her mother's body began to dissolve. Warm flesh turned to ash, and the little bits of what had once been her mother dusted MJ's arms, coated her throat with every inhale. She was gone.

MJ was alone.

Ned almost always woke her up, but by then the damage had already been done. Each dream only made MJ long for more work, more music, something burning at the back of her throat to wash away the ache. Sometimes, if she snuck a little alcohol, she could sleep without the nightmares.

The Avengers would leave, then come back again. They would plot, they would consult Ned and MJ for any intelligence, and then they would depart again. The cycle was fruitless, again and again and again. MJ began to hear Tony Stark's words in her head as empty promises as despair ate her alive. She only stayed for May Parker, for going to her room at night and talking in whispers, making sure that they weren't forgetting him. Part of her thought that, no matter how many missions the Avengers went on, MJ would always find herself in that room again, forcing herself to solidify every chocolate curl and lopsided grin in her mind.

MJ had lost count of how many nights were spent that way when the sun rose over a new New York City.

MJ peeled herself from her bed with a pounding headache the same way she did every morning, making sure to be as quiet as possible as she crawled to the bathroom to retch into the toilet before grabbing her glass of water. By the time she stumbled into the computer lab in a Stark Industries hoodie and leggings, MJ had not checked the news. She collapsed into a wheeled chair the same way that she always did, opening several different windows to check the radar she monitored. It was only when F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice announced, "Opening lab doors," that MJ spoke.

"Did I wake you up? I'm sorry, Leeds, it was another rough night-"

"MJ."

The voice that reached her ears caused MJ to freeze. Her mind spun as she blinked at the monitor, struggling to breathe. That voice was one that she had talked about with May for months, remembering the voice cracks and the earnest tone and the way that it sounded when it was choked with emotion. It was a little deeper, a little hoarse. But she knew that voice.

Slowly, MJ turned the wheeled chair to face the doorway, and her eyes locked on him immediately.

He was clad in a different sort of suit, one that was metallic and fit his form perfectly. It was streaked with grime, as was the rest of him. His face was dirty, and there were bruises along his right cheekbone and over his left eye. The brown eyes that met hers, however, did not look like those of a defeated hero. They shone, and she realized they were glistening with tears. His stupid frog mouth was twisted into the lopsided grin that haunted her whenever she closed her eyes, the one that always succeeded in lifting her spirits.

MJ's voice was the ghost of a whisper in her throat. "H-hold on," she breathed, her heart racing. "You died." Part of her wondered if maybe this was just her reaction to having too much to drink the night before.

"Yeah, well, it didn't stick."

A sob escaped MJ's lips, and before she could help it, she was shooting across the room to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and suddenly her stupid best friend was using his super strength to lift her from the floor and hold her to him. MJ felt hot tears falling from her eyes, and she could feel her damp curls from where his face was pressed to her hair. She was shaking, and she was clinging to him like he was her lifeline. He was here… She was touching him, he wasn't just a bad reaction to some vodka.

He was home.

"You… You asshole," she sobbed against his neck. "You absolute asshole, d-don't you ever-"

"I won't, I won't," he whispered quietly against her hair. "I won't. I'm home. They're all home, MJ. Mr. Stark said your mom-"

Another sob, and Peter stopped talking as he held her close. "Hey," he whispered, and there was concern in his voice. "Are you alright?"

She pulled back, just enough to look up at him as he carefully set her down. She had to admit, the fact that he had lifted her when she had two inches on him was impressive, considering he had just been dead.

"I've never been better," she whispered as she let go of his neck in favor of taking one of his hands. Yes, she was in love with him, but this was about more than that. This was about feeling him under her fingers, knowing he was here and he wasn't going to go. "You, on the other hand, smell like crap."

Peter grinned as he used his other hand to brush away the tears that had made marks through the grime. "Yeah, I guess I'd better go-"

"No. You're not leaving," she interrupted. "We're going to go see- see May and Ned. Peter, you need to go see Ned, he's… He needs you."

"I know," he whispered, gently squeezing her hand as they began to walk out of the laboratory. MJ knew, deep down, that he knew how she felt about him, and she knew the same. But they both knew that this was more important. Today wasn't about what might be… Today was about what was, and about relishing the fact that he was here. For a moment, Peter stopped, tugging her gently by the hand so that she stopped where he could look up at her. "But we've got time, MJ."

MJ took a breath, and for a moment, she just focused on the feeling of his calloused hands, free of the metal suit, in hers. After a long moment, she exhaled, and then MJ stood a little straighter. Her voice held relief, pure and simple, as she repeated his statement.

"We've got... We've got time."


End file.
